The Start of Something
by rittenden
Summary: Postep for 03.14 'Take Out'. Oneshot. Originally posted on the Numb3rs Fanrush site.


**The Start of Something**

William Bradford said goodbye to his patient, glanced at the lone figure waiting in the outer office and picked up the phone. It rang twice before it was answered. "Jerry? I know this is last-minute, but… I know, I know…" He watched Don Eppes' dark head turn as the other man left the office. "Do you suppose we could make it a working dinner instead?" Bradford said into the phone. "I've got a guy here… Yeah, walk-ins are a pain, but… This one's a real action hero, you know?" Don slowly unfolded himself from the leather club chair. "How about six o'clock? O'Malley's? Great. Thanks, Jerry." He replaced the receiver as the door opened. "Have a seat, Agent Eppes."

Don closed the door softly and stood, uncertainty marring his handsome features. "Where…?"

"Take your pick," Bradford replied easily. "Wherever you feel more comfortable." Don glanced at the couch and then moved to perch uneasily on the black leather armchair. Bradford waited.

Rubbing a hand restlessly over the leg of his dark jeans, Don looked around the office, taking in the various diplomas and photographs mounted on the walls. The psychiatrist noted Don's lack of real interest in the items – it was only a delaying tactic – and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. This would take a while.

At last, Don spoke. "I went to my brother's house the other night…" he began. "I wanted to talk to him about the case we were working on."

"Do you do that often?" Bradford put in.

"Yeah," Don nodded. "He's a mathematician – we consult with him on some of our cases." The other man raised an eyebrow in surprise but didn't reply. Don smiled briefly. "I had to practically drag him out of the house… Dad's new girlfriend was over and Charlie thought she was there to see _him_." At Bradford's puzzled look, he explained, "Millie – Dad's girlfriend – is my brother's boss."

"I see."

Don turned away in disgust. "It's not as weird as you think… and no, I don't resent my father for dating again."

Nodding slightly, Bradford replied, "Now you know what I'm thinking?"

A slightly alarmed look passed over Don's face. "No, no," he said quickly. "That's not what I…" He stood suddenly. "This was a mistake," he muttered.

Bradford made no move to stop him as he headed for the door, instead only commenting, "You came to me, Agent Eppes, not the other way around."

Don froze with one hand on the doorknob, his head down and shoulders tensed. After a few moments he turned back. "Don," he said quietly.

"Bill."

Moving over to the couch, Don dropped into the cushions with a weary sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Bill turned slightly to face him. "What made you change your mind?"

Don shrugged. "Nothing – everything – I don't know…" He leaned back against the cushions. "Something my brother said… something my dad said… lots of stuff." Bill didn't speak. "And you, I guess. I can't talk to _them_…" He waved a hand absently. "They don't know, you know?"

"Because they haven't been in it."

Don nodded. "Megan – she says everyone has a problem they should see someone about, but…" His voice trailed off.

Bill laced his fingers together and leaned back. "Megan's your girlfriend?"

"No." Don barked a laugh. "No, she's one of my team – a profiler."

"I see." Hesitating a moment, Bill added, "She's close to you then."

Don looked at him. "They all are. Megan – she's the one…" He turned away. "She's the one Crystal Hoyle kidnapped."

Bill nodded. It had been in the report. He decided to change tactics. "What did your brother say?" At Don's perplexed look, he explained, "You said he said something to you that made you rethink coming here."

"Oh." Don fiddled with his sunglasses. "We were… I was telling him about how the department was making me see a…" He stopped.

"A shrink," Bill supplied.

Don smiled apologetically. "He asked me what for and I told him because of the shooting."

"And?"

"He asked which one." Don glanced up briefly. "It kind of caught me off-guard."

Nodding slowly, Bill asked, "And your father – what did he say?"

Don was quiet for so long the psychiatrist thought he wouldn't answer the question. He was about to ask another when Don said softly, "He said if I was starting to think of my life's work as a long string of 'dirty jobs', then maybe it's time I talked to someone about it."

"Do you think he's right?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" the agent countered. "I'm not exactly the 'spill your guts' type."

Bill regarded him carefully. "I'll let you in on a little secret," he said. When Don looked at him he went on, "No one in law enforcement is." He waited a few moments, letting the other man digest that, then prompted, "So the people you know advised you to come see me."

"See _someone_," he corrected. "Not necessarily a… a therapist."

"Yet you decided to come here anyway," Bill replied. "Why is that?"

"I don't know," Don said helplessly. "I have no idea why." He fell silent. Bill glanced surreptitiously at his watch. This was definitely going to take a while. Several minutes passed before Don said quietly, "It's all I think about."

Bill waited, unmoving. Don Eppes was testing the waters. If the current wasn't too rough he might actually climb in. "By all accounts it was a bad case," he offered.

"I crossed a few lines."

He could see Don warring with himself, trying to decide how much to say. "I'm not here to judge you, Don."

The agent snorted. "You sign the papers."

"That's something else." Bill sighed and shifted in his seat. "That's about your state of mind, not a performance review."

Don changed the subject. "There was another shooting today," he said.

"What happened?"

"This death squad was after three kids from Mexico," Don replied. "This guy – a former Army colonel – had smuggled them here to try to protect them." He paused. "They were going to open fire on a bunch of little kids."

Bill nodded. "And you stopped them."

"My team," Don amended. "They pulled up alongside the schoolyard, getting ready to fire… we broadsided their van, but that didn't stop them." He looked up. "The colonel died."

"But you still stopped them," Bill countered. "No one else got hurt, did they?"

Don shook his head. "The kids were pretty shook up," he replied. "But no one else was hit, no." He looked down at his hands. "I pulled my gun, but… I didn't fire."

"Why not?"

The agent got up suddenly and began pacing. "I don't know," he said at last. "I drew, took aim, but…" He stopped, looking out the window. Finally he lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. "I didn't shoot. It was like… all I could think was… it didn't have to be me all the time." He turned to face Bill. "Does that make any sense?" Don asked.

The other man nodded. "You're the one that took the shot at Crystal Hoyle – you feel like it _has_ to be you that does the dirty work." When Don didn't reply he asked, "Why is that?" Don shrugged and turned back to the window. Bill thought for a moment and then said, "You're trying to protect them."

Don didn't turn. "Who?"

"Your team," Bill answered. "You're trying to prevent them from feeling what you feel – from having to go through what you're going through." Don remained silent. "It's their job, too, Don."

"That's what my dad said."

"Wise man." Bill paused. "Answer me this," he said. "When you shot Crystal Hoyle, how did that make you feel?"

Don rounded on him. "What the hell kind of question is that?" he snapped. "How was it _supposed_ to make me feel?"

Refusing to rise to the bait, Bill regarded him blandly. "I'd have felt some kind of satisfaction," he replied. "The woman had gone on a killing spree with her lover, stealing cars and robbing places…" He shrugged. "Then she kidnaps your teammate – your _friend_ – and almost kills her…"

"Yeah?" Don retorted. "Well, I didn't feel 'satisfied' when I shot her, okay?"

"You did," Bill argued quietly. "For a little while. Until you sat back and took a look at what you'd done." His eyes narrowed in speculation. "Then you were horrified," he went on. "Because you _did _feel it – and that made you no better than her."

"You're wrong."

Bill met his gaze squarely. "Am I?" he asked. "Honestly?"

Don tore his eyes from the other man's face and stared determinedly out the window. Finally he shook his head and whispered, "No."

The psychiatrist felt pride swelling his chest at getting the other man to admit this much. He leaned forward, opening his mouth to speak, when a sharp rap on the door drew their attention. Both men turned toward the sound.

"Um – Doctor Bradford?" the man who'd knocked poked his head through the doorway. "I'm supposed to be here for three?"

Bill looked at his watch, unaware that Don had copied the movement. "Already?" he asked. Turning to Don he said, "I didn't realize it had gotten that late."

"Me neither," Don said quietly. "I guess I should be going." There was an unspoken question in his dark eyes.

"I'm free on Thursday after lunch," Bill offered.

Don headed for the door. "I'll let you know," he said shortly. He paused before going out. "Bill?"

Getting to his feet, Bill replied, "Yeah, Don?"

"Thanks."

The other man smiled slightly. "Anytime."


End file.
